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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373685">Moving Forward</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth/pseuds/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth'>Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Untitled Series [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Descriptions of self-harm, Fun Ghoul (Danger Days) has shitty joints, Gen, Hard of Hearing Fun Ghoul (Danger Days), I'm not sure any other tags apply please lmk if there's something I need to add, Nonbinary Fun Ghoul (Danger Days), Nonbinary NewsAGoGo (Danger Days)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:41:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373685</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth/pseuds/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not too late to ask for help</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>NewsAGoGo &amp; Fun Ghoul (Danger Days)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Untitled Series [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Moving Forward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's been ages since you woke up screaming, but the images haven't left your head, taste of blood hasn't left your mouth from where you've been biting away at the scars on your face where they cut all the way through to your mouth. You'd forgot how much mouths can bleed, dripping out the corner of your lips where they don't close right anymore, staining across your teeth. You tried and drank some water to wash the taste away, but it fucking <em>stung</em> like hell. So you're laying alone in the back room watching your blood stain the pillowcase while the rest of your family is out somewhere doing Witch knows what, without you.</p><p>They'd have brought you along if they could (probably), but your bad knee's been acting the fuck up and it's just irresponsible to take someone on a run who can't even cross the living room without pain. It's probably just as irresponsible to leave you alone here, actually. The thought fires off a chain of other thoughts in rapid succession, all the gory details of shit you could do to yourself while the others are out. Do it good enough, and they wouldn't have to know. Do it better, and they'd never find your body. </p><p>Shit.</p><p>You try and shake the thoughts outta your head, hoping the physical action would stir you neurons around, or something like that, but all it does is make something in your neck crack a couple times. Gross. So now you're trying to ignore the bad memories from your dream, ignore the bad impulses from this fucked-up broken piece of shit brain of yours. You close your eyes. That doesn't work. You shake your head again. No dice. You bring your palms up to press against your eyes, but that just makes you wanna flip your hands around, gouge your eyes out. What the <em>fuck</em> is wrong wth you? </p><p>Think. The thoughts go away when you're in pain, right? So do something about it, hurt yourself just to clear your head. Think. Jet Star'd taken your knife after the last time, a couple months ago, but your blaster's resting by the bed, easy reach in case you needed to defend yourself while the others were out (without you). So you grab the blaster up, not bothering to check if it's on KILL, MAIM, or STUN, and fire a round off into the door (the others will be pissed at you about it later, you figure, but that's a different problem). Before the blaster cools, you wrap your hand around the barrel, biting down on your tongue to keep from screaming. That fucked-up part of your brain wonders if it sizzled, wishes you could've heard the sound of your own cooking flesh. But it does clear your head, enough to make you wonder <em>what in the hell are you doing?</em>, enough to make you know you fucked up.</p><p>You stare down at your palm as the blisters bubble up, skin around it both pale and red. An hour passes. Finally, you've gathered up enough willpower to toss the blaster across the room, fumbling with your good hand for Kobra's handheld radio-- they'd set it on the bedside table before leaving you, blowing you a kiss as they closed the door. You'd flipped them off, laughing. Now, you dial through the two-way frequencies, finally picking up D's station.</p><p>"Newsagogo here, speakin' for 109 WKIL. What's up?" </p><p>"Gogo. It's, uh, Ghoul." It replies, asking you something, but the volume's all the way up on the radio and you still can't make out half the words. "Say that again? Can't hear ya. Actually, just, can you come to the diner?"</p><p>"Sure thing, Ghoulie! Be right there." It's gone before you get the chance to reply, radio cutting off with a hiss of static. Moving slowly, you curl up on your side on the mattress, waiting. The bedroom is cold, or maybe it's just you. Doesn't matter, anyways.</p><p>Newsagogo doesn't bother knocking on the door, instead dragging an old barrel up to your open window and clambering into the room with an "<em>Oof</em>."</p><p>"How the hell'd you do that in those wackass platforms of yours?"</p><p>"I can do anything!" It high-kicks, and you smile despite yourself, still curled up on the mattress. "Speakin' of which, what can I do for <em>you</em>?" You smile again, more out of nerves than any good emotion, waving your charred-up hand at it.</p><p>"Got all up in my head and fucked myself up a bit. Figured I'd do it again if I didn't call someone." It frowns, flopping down on the mattress beside you, sending you bouncing a bit.</p><p>"Can I see?" You nod, showing it your hand. "Oh, <em>gross</em>. Where's the medkit?" You shrug.</p><p>"Bathroom, maybe?"</p><p>"Okay. Be right back, G!" It kisses your forehead before jumping up and skipping outta the room, five and a half feet of concentrated energy, as always.</p><p>"Thanks, Newsie." It doesn't hear you, but that doesn't matter. It's back in a flash, and it deals with your hand real quick, peppering in commentary where it's needed-- 'Does this hurt? What about this?'-- and where it isn't-- 'Dude, I've <em>never</em> seen a blister this big, and that's counting the time I dared Show Pony to touch that weird-ass plant, you know the one I mean?'-- and you repeat yourself. "Thank you, Newsie." It grins, kicking away the medkit once it's done with it, tackling you back to the mattress. </p><p>"Always! And thank you. For getting my help, I mean." </p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"I mean it. Thank you, Ghoul." You've never seen it this serious. You don't know how to respond. </p><p>"Oh." Shit, you're about to c-- nope, you're crying now. You curl up again, ashamed, and it pulls you into a hug.</p><p>"Is this okay?" You nod again, sniffling. "Hey, now, it's gonna be okay." You don't reply, and it holds you, gently, while you cry.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Leave a comment below, and come find me on tumblr @wishiwasthemoon-tonight!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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